All the Ashes in my Wake
by AnglophileConfessions
Summary: After a series of events in Mexico, Malia is forced to leave Lydia behind, in danger, and possibly dead. She has no choice...but, what are the consequences?
1. Leaving

It was too dangerous. They had discussed leaving Lydia behind…maybe even Stiles. But in the end, they all piled into Stiles' jeep and met at Derek's loft. The Calavaras would be coming for them at any time. They had to prepare. Scott had bitten Liam and now they would all pay the price. The Calavaras wouldn't care if it saved someone's life, to them, the bite was a curse, a sin, and the creature that inflicted the damage should be put down like a rabid dog. Chris was only able to protect them for a short amount of time. The Calavaras were adamant about their code. While they were content to send half of their group with Chris to look for Kate, the other half were put to the task of hunting Scott...

Malia told them that it was a bad idea. Scott had said that they should stay behind. But, Lydia and Stiles refused to remain behind while the others put themselves in danger. Besides, Lydia was damn handy to have around. She could sense death as well as a werewolf could catch a scent. But, she couldn't heal. She would never heal if something happened to her. Stiles was in the same position, but his death would come without warning.

Lydia began to feel the tension in her throat as a scream began to work its way up her throat. They all knew they were in danger, but they hadn't realized how much danger…Once everything was arranged, they left Derek's loft and headed for Mexico. They had a plan in place, prepared and plotted. But, of course, the plan had gone array. Instead of allowing the Calavaras to come into their homes, they packed up and traveled halfway to Mexico. If they met them halfway, maybe they could spare their families, the innocents. Surely, this would work. They were wrong.

The shots tore through the silence of the desert, tornadoes of dust flew up into the pack's eyes. Bullets possess no forgiveness, no mercy. When a hunter trains their weapon on you, squeezes the trigger, there is no going back. Lydia had told them that trying to talk to the Calavaras wouldn't help. They were bent on destroying Scott and his pack now that Liam was Scott's beta and Chris wasn't there to protect Scott and his pack anymore.

In their desperation to avoid the bullets, they all fled into the underground tunnels, into the darkness, and into an environment that they found themselves unfamiliar with. The last time that they had found themselves in these tunnels, Peter had revealed his plans to kill Scott, Kate had wreaked havoc, Malia had nearly killed her newly found alpha. This trip into the impenetrable darkness wasn't any better.

As they ran, Malia's heart beat furiously in her chest, determined to continue pumping, to survive. Scott sprinted ahead of her, trying to lead them all back to the Jeep, to safety of some kind. This was a mistake, a plan to hastily hatched. She could feel Scott's anxiety, his guilt, and fear hanging about him like a curtain. He led them into this and now he was desperate to get them all out. Malia shoved Stiles in front of her, pushing him to run faster. She could see four heads bobbing as they ran in front of her; Scott, Liam, Stiles, Kira…Lydia. Where was Lydia?

As Malia turned to look behind her, she saw a flash of blinding light and her ears rang with the sound of gunfire. She clapped her hands over her ears and dropped to the ground, screaming "LYDIA!" Malia blinked rapidly, trying to see through the spots in her sight, trying to penetrate the surrounding darkness. She saw the leather boots of a hunter, feet from her, and the owner training the barrel of a gun on her. In one quick motion, she leapt on the hunter, and silenced him completely. She paused only a moment to listen for other hunters and then focused on listening for Lydia in the darkness. She could no longer hear the others. She was entirely alone. Only seconds had passed, though it felt like hours. Finally, Malia heard the slightest of sounds. Ragged breathing reached her ears. She didn't dare call out to Lydia again. Instead she slowly and carefully crept towards the sound until she heard, not only, breathing, but the weak sound of a heartbeat. It reminded her of injured prey she had seen in the woods…

She inhaled deeply and caught Lydia's scent. She dropped to her knees again when she saw Lydia lying on the ground, motionless. "Lydia…" She whispered. "Lydia, come on." An immense internal struggle was occurring in Malia's mind. The coyote in her begged her to run, to survive, and leave the feeble behind, but the human part of her told her to stay. Lydia was her friend.

Lydia was pressing hard on her stomach, where a deep red stain spread across the fabric of her green shirt. She was paler than usual and a fine layer of sweat coated her forehead. She looked feeble, weak. She was dying. "You have to go, Malia. Please go." She was crying. Malia had never seen Lydia cry.

"I can't leave you…you're my friend…and Stiles, Stiles will never leave you. You know that. Here, let me lift you. I can get you to the jeep…" Malia reached for Lydia, but Lydia shrank away from her grasp.

"Malia, you have to leave me. You know as well as I do, if I get into that jeep, I will be dead within minutes. I have a better chance of surviving if the Calavaras find me. They won't kill me. I'm a banshee. They're too curious…They might need me…" Her eyelids fluttered weakly. "Get the others out. Get them out of here, Malia…" Lydia's eyes began to close, too heavy with fatigue to remain open. The sound of voices reached Malia's ears and she looked over her shoulder into the darkness. Lydia was right. Malia knew it, and yet it pained her to give up, to leave her friend. Especially when she knew what it would do to their friends. To Stiles.

"What will I tell them, Lydia? They'll never leave you. You're not supposed to leave a member of the pack behind. We don't leave our friends to die." The voices were coming closer and they weren't speaking English…

"Malia, get out of her before they kill you. I'll be fine. Leave me…Tell them I'm already dead. Don't you dare tell them I'm alive." She grabbed Malia's wrist in her small, porcelain hand.

"Lydia, no. I can't-" Malia, said. Her throat felt constricted. She had not experienced this feeling since she was 8 years old and left the bodies of her mother and sister behind her…She felt guilt settle into her stomach.

"That's the only way they'll go. This place will be swarming with hunters soon, you have… to go. You need…leave…take care…of the others. Malia take care of them…Stiles…take care of him, Malia." Her hand slipped from Malia's wrist as she fell unconscious. Her heart was so faint.

Malia looked hard at Lydia, one last time and then nodded to herself. It had to be done. She hugged Lydia's limp body to her and then, without a second thought Malia sprinted for escape, back out into the desert, leaving one of her only friends to die on the dusty ground of the catacombs…

As soon as she emerged into the moonlight, both Stiles and Scott ran to her. "What happened?" Stiles said frantically, looking at Lydia's blood, smeared across Malia's shirt. "Are you okay? Lydia. Where's Lydia?" His eyes were wide, full of panic and dread. Scott was breathing heavily, looking at the blood on Malia's shirt.

"Oh god…" Malia knew he could smell Lydia's scent.

Malia stared blankly at the two of them. She heard Stiles' heart accelerate in pace, felt the panic rising in him. It stung her nose. "She's dead." Malia said it flatly, with no emotion in her voice. She brushed past Scott, standing stock-still, past Stiles, past Kira and Liam. "We need to leave. Now." It wasn't until she was past them that she let her tears fall. She brushed them away roughly. Those would be her secret too.


	2. Harbor

Stiles couldn't breathe. Malia's words hit him like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, he bolted for the mouth of the tunnels, determined to get to Lydia. She couldn't be dead. She wasn't dead. If he just got to her, she'd be okay. He just had to get to her. But, before he made it to the entrance to the caves, Scott had locked his arms around him in a vice-like grip, stopping him in his tracks.

"Let me go, Scott! Scott, Lydia's in there, we can't leave her, she's in there and we can't leave her. She can't die, Scott." His voice was strained and cracking. He struggled as hard as he could against Scott's arms.

"Stiles…Stiles, Malia said she's gone. She's gone…We have to get out of here…" Scott's voice was thick with tears. He had already given up. Stiles didn't give up though. Not ever. Not with Lydia. He kicked, he clawed at Scott's arms until they both fell in a heap.

"I have to get…to her…Scott. Scott, I can't leave her. We can't lose her. Not her too. Not after Allison. Scott, please." Tears were forming in his eyes and trailing down his cheeks, mingling with the dirt and sand on his face. As the weight of realization settled on Stiles, his chest began to feel tight. It was as though his throat were closing. There wasn't enough air in the desert. There wasn't enough air in the fucking world. Spots appeared in his vision and he began to gasp for oxygen, spiraling into a powerful panic attack. He couldn't breathe. He was going to suffocate from the weight of Malia's words. Everything slowed down, the world was spinning in slow motion. Then, as though his body were attempting to spare him the pain of his breaking heart, he fell limp in Scott's arms. His eyes were open, staring blankly ahead, but it was as though he were unconscious. Scott heaved him up, fighting his own tears and half carried him to the jeep. It was the longest drive that Scott had ever experienced, and Stiles was quieter than Scott had ever known him to be.

Stiles kept his promise to Lydia. _If you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind._ For the first few days, Stiles didn't eat. He refused to go with Scott to the police station to report Lydia's death. When Malia came to visit him he pretended to be asleep, his door locked while he buried himself in the covers of his bed as though he could entirely disappear within them.

Lydia's death was the final straw. They had all been through so much. But, Stiles in particular had gone through more than anyone thought possible. He had been possessed by the Nogitsune, Allison had died and he still felt responsible, and now Lydia…Lydia. He couldn't take it anymore. The only person he spoke to with more than a few mumbled words was his father. Scott came to visit him regularly, trying to get him to show interest in something, but weeks passed and still Stiles mourned.

The more time passed, the worse it became. It's always worse before it gets better. He had heard his father utter these words as they held each other months after his mother's death. His father's breath had reeked of alcohol. Stiles began to eat and talk again, but he still looked thinner, paler, and he laughed less. The twinkle in his eye had disappeared, leaving his amber eyes a dark, hollow brown. He and Malia no longer had sex. He couldn't bare the physical contact. They barely even talked and she could feel him slipping farther into himself despite his attempts at returning to normal. Malia's stomach churned with guilt. She couldn't bear to see him this way. His grief was consuming and threated to pull both of them down into its depths.

Malia laid awake every night, her stomach aching as she wondered what had happened…what if Lydia had survived? Where was she? Had the Calavaras captured her? Or had they left her petite, fragile body lying in those tunnels, alone and forgotten? The thought made tears spring into her eyes and she would bury her face in her pillow and cry silently, so she wouldn't wake Stiles.

It was killing her: the not knowing. She didn't know rather Lydia was dead or not. She wanted to tell Stiles and Scott…she wanted to end their suffering, but she also didn't want to give them false hope. A couple months after their fatal trip to the desert, Malia snuck out of bed and ran all the way to the caves where she had left Lydia behind. It was a long run that took most of the night, and when she arrived there was nothing there to ease her guilt, to quell her sadness. The tunnels were empty, there was nothing of Lydia left there. For this, she was glad. If she had found Lydia's body lying where she had left it…she didn't think she could have handled that. The run home seemed to take even longer than the run there. She didn't get back until mid-morning. When Stiles asked her where she had been she added another lie to the pile.

"I was visiting my mother and sister's graves." Another secret that she had to keep…

Two more months passed. Malia cried as Stiles mumbled Lydia's name in his sleep. He seemed to finally be feeling happier again though. 4 months had gone by since Malia had left Lydia. Stiles was laughing again. He was more himself, and he ate more. But, the words that floated from his mouth in the night told a different story. He would toss and turn and mumble… _Lydia, Lydia, Lydia_.

Malia hated herself for lying to Stiles, to Scott. And she hated herself for leaving Lydia behind. She should have taken her. Lydia had been weak. She couldn't have stopped Malia from taking her out of the caves…She felt as though she would never rid herself of the what-ifs that ate at her all night. During the day, she would stay busy, she would be a relatively normal young girl, but at night, she would experience her own nightmares.

She and Stiles began to have sex again. It felt different though. It was slow and halting and Malia felt Stiles' tears against her shoulder as he pushed against her. Her teeth lightly grazed his shoulder, her own tears falling down her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked her, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead tenderly.

"I'm fine. Are you okay?" She whispered to him in the dark.

"Yeah. Of course I am. I'm always okay." But, his voice sounded unsure, uneasy. They settled down and snuggled against each other, Malia wrapping her arms around him tightly as though she could absorb all the hurt boiling beneath his skin.

6 months had passed. Stiles finally started getting his hair cut regularly again. He cleared out his room, put away Lydia's drawing of the nemeton, and hung up pictures of his friends. Pictures of her and Scott, of his mother, his father, Allison…but, there were no pictures of Lydia on his walls. He moved his furniture and reorganized his closet. Malia smiled at him as he pulled a flannel shirt from the pile of clothes he was going through. Her smile faltered as she saw him hesitate. He stared down at the shirt, his nostrils flaring as he visibly tried to control his breathing. It was the blue plaid shirt he had worn into the desert that day, months ago, when his life had been forever altered. He wadded it up and shoved it deep into a bag with the other clothes he was donating.

Malia could see that Stiles was trying desperately to return to normal life. But, it's impossible when you've lost such a large portion of your life. First Allison and now Lydia. Two major blows in only a handful of months. He was as normal as he could be though. He did everything that he had done before. Only he did it slower now. He was less spastic and energetic. But, he was still Stiles. Even if he was a mere echo of his former self…

Stiles regularly visited Lydia's empty grave. There had been no body, but there was still a tombstone erected in her honor. Malia never went with him. It became easier each time he went. His chest still ached, but considerably less and he no longer felt the beginnings of a panic attack when he crouched to run his long fingers over the smooth letters of her name, etched into the stone.

8 months had passed. It was a stunning morning, the light of the sun just barely touching the tops of the trees. Stiles had set out early, before school to visit Lydia's grave. He knelt before it, laying out some flowers he had picked up. He smiled at the other flowers laying on the stone, from Scott and Mrs. Martin. He brushed his hand over the letters of her name, closing his eyes and picturing her as clearly as he could in his mind.

"I miss you so much, Lydia. Why'd you have to start being nice to me and spending time with me? Huh? What'd you go and do that for? You become my friend and then you die one me. Nice one." Stiles said aloud to himself. He let out a short, soft laugh. "I know if you were here, you'd probably just tell me to stop being such a sap, but hey…you know me. It's hard for me to skip the sappiness with you." He grinned and stood up, staring down, thinking. They had lost so many people in the last year. Their lives had been turned upside down and it felt as though their world was always on the brink of total destruction, as though the world would tilt even further, wobble, and fall off its axis to plummet into the darkness of space. Stiles often found himself feeling much the same way. He was always wobbling, these days, always struggling to find something concrete enough to hold on to.

Scott was an immense help to him. Just as Stiles had looked out for Scott in the months after Allison's death, Scott looked after Stiles. He and Scott didn't discuss what had happened until Stiles felt he could form coherent words on the matter. "Scott, how did you do it?" Stiles asked Scott, looking at his best friend, his brother. "How the hell did you get through it?"

"I don't know. I mean, in some ways, I'm still _not_ through it. But, I know that Allison would have wanted me to keep going. She died so that we could keep living. I would never want to dishonor her by giving up on something she gave her life for. I love her. I'm always going to love her. Just like you're always going to love Lydia." He gave Stiles a knowing look and clapped him on the back. "We'll get through this, Stiles. You're going to get through this."

"It's my fault. I should have made sure that she was safe…" Stiles muttered. "No matter how much time passes, I can't get rid of that feeling. I didn't get to apologize, I didn't get to say goodbye, I didn't get to tell her…Scott, I never got to tell her…" _He loved her_. The unspoken words that she would never hear hung in the air as Stiles fought back tears. He was so tired of feeling like a little kid.

"Stiles. It isn't your fault, man. You can't blame yourself. We all should have been more careful. We should have done things differently. We never should have gotten ourselves into that position anyways. I should have protected my pack better." Scott said, his eyes dropping to the ground.

"Scott…" Stiles said, his brows furrowing. "You did what you thought was best. You're a good alpha. Lydia knew that. I know that. It's not your fault either. Everything just sucks."

"I second that. It just sucks."

Stiles wiped at the tears that had escaped him. Without warning, Scott pulled him into a tight hug. It was the kind of hug that relieved aches Stiles didn't know he was harboring. He clung to Scott, his face screwed up as he struggled not to cry anymore. In that moment, he felt incredibly lucky to be a part of his family. His father, Scott, Malia, Kira…they were all his family, blood relation or not. It didn't matter. Your family was the people that you surrounded yourself and the people you loved. It was your pack.

Stiles would get through this. He could get past Lydia Martin. He could get through this darkness.

Malia began to feel as though she could keep this secret awhile longer. Stiles was getting better. She couldn't spoil that. She couldn't tell him the truth, give him false hope, and then watch him fall apart all over again. No. She could harbor this secret a little longer…


	3. Breath

Almost a year had passed since Malia left Lydia Martin behind in the desert. Every day that passed did nothing to decrease her anxiety on the subject. She still struggled to sleep, unable to find peace as her mind turned to Scott, Stiles, Kira, Liam, _all_ of them. Most of all, her stomach turned when she thought of Lydia…What would happen when she couldn't keep this secret anymore? Would they go back to Mexico all over again? Would it reopen aged wounds?

Malia had always been taught to be honest. She was honest almost to a fault, telling people every thought that went through her head. Keeping this secret was a mark of its importance. She promised Lydia that she would tell them that she was dead…to never let them come back there to die simply because there was the slight possibility that she was alive…

Her guilt increased as she and Stiles started to drift apart. It was odd, how in such a small amount of time, people fell in and out of love. For Stiles and Malia, they found that things never truly went back to normal, and they began to spend less and less time together. While they were still close friends, it felt as though they were missing something, or that they were growing up to realize that their adult selves didn't love each other in the same way as their younger selves had. A lot happens in a year. People change and grow. They grow apart. Stiles and Malia's break up wasn't bitter or messy in any way. It was foreseen by both of them, and they found that they were much more at ease with one another once they had resolved to be "just friends." Kira's family had decided to move away from Beacon Hills at the end of the summer, leaving Scott alone once more. Stiles attempted to focus on lacrosse again, Scott on his studies.

This development made it much easier to refrain from telling Stiles about Lydia, in some ways. She didn't have many chances to blurt anything out to Stiles. She did, however, have plenty of opportunities to blurt things out to Scott. They had begun spending more time together, getting to know one another, and found a comfort and happiness in one another's company. Malia was incredibly loyal though. Her promise to Lydia stood strong and she had no intention of spilling it to anyone.

That is until Saturday. Saturday changed everything. Saturday brought Malia Hale to her knees.

She was out in the woods, taking a walk, and catching some fresh air when she heard the crinkle of leaves behind her. She turned to survey the trees, but no one was there. Malia stared suspiciously into the distance, listening hard, but no sounds came. She continued to walk and then she distinctly heard something that resembled a breath, then a heartbeat. She whipped around to face the threat and was entirely unprepared for the sight that met her eyes.

A young girl stood before her, resembling someone she had once known. Her copper waves were lighter than Malia remembered them, as though the sun had bleached bits and pieces of her hair. She had freckles across her nose and her skin had a glow that made the porcelain color look as though she had spent hours outdoors only to burn and freckle. She was wearing fitted black pants, a loose top, and a soft, cotton jacket. Her face was devoid of makeup and her nails were unpainted. If Malia had not truly looked this woman in the face, she would never had realized that she was staring at Lydia Martin.

"Lydia?" Her voice was barely a whisper. Tears sprung to her eyes as though she just suffered a physical injury. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Instead she fell to the ground, rocks bruising her knees. Face in hands, she began to cry in earnest. She felt relief wash over her in waves. She hated the tears and yet, welcomed the release they offered her.

Lydia rushed to Malia, crouching down, and rested her hand on Malia's shoulder. "Malia, it's okay. It's okay." Lydia began to cry as she watched her friend crumble in front of her. Malia had shouldered a greater burden than either of them had realized. And Lydia had missed Beacon Hills more than she thought was possible. Lydia pulled Malia to her in a tight hug, trying to convey her gratitude in a way that words couldn't express.

When Malia's tears slowed, she looked up into the face of her friend and voiced the only words that came to mind: "What happened?"

Lydia looked at her apprehensively. "I…it's a long story. I don't even know where to start…"

"The beginning would be good…" Malia said, bluntly, wiping her face with her sleeve.

Lydia laughed and settled down to sit next to Malia on the forest floor. She took a deep, shuddering breath and said, "After I convinced you to leave me behind, the hunters rounded the corner and found me. I wasn't fully conscious. We were lucky that they didn't catch you. If you had tried to escape seconds later…" She paused, thinking, and then shook her head and continued her story. "I don't remember much about the trip through the catacombs. I woke up and I was in a house, in a bed, my stomach wrapped in bandages. The Calavaras had taken me, spared me, and nursed me back to health. They…wanted to know more about me, understand my powers. Of course, I didn't even fully understand my powers…

"Anyways, they took care of me until I was fully healed with nothing but a nasty scar. I speak fluent Spanish, and they fluent English, so communication wasn't an issue. After I was released from bed rest, they told me their demands for saving my life."

"Demands?" Malia asked, watching Lydia intently. Her heart had finally slowed down. She was at last beginning to realize that this wasn't a dream. Lydia Martin was here. She was alive.

"They wanted a favor for saving my life. They asked that I assist them in something…or they would kill Scott and every member of his pack. So, I agreed. There was no other choice. I couldn't let them hurt any of you. I took measures to ensure that the agreement became a contract. I wanted to make sure that they didn't attempt to hurt any of you after I helped them…"

"Helped them do what?" Malia asked, apprehensively.

"They wanted my help catching Kate Argent. They sent me with a group of hunters that were separate from Chris Argent so that he wouldn't know I was involved in any way… They wanted me to be their canary in the coal mines."

"Their what?" Malia asked. She was burning to ask a thousand questions, but she settled for asking this one. It was a reference she didn't understand, as she had missed all of middle school and half of high school. Lydia smiled understandingly.

"They took me with them when they hunted. I had to warn them when danger was close enough to threaten their lives. I was like a personal alarm system. After doing this multiple times for months, I've actually become quite accustomed to it. I did this for them for 8 months while they searched for Kate. We still haven't found her. But, they released me anyways. I think they began to fear that I would do something rash if they didn't let me come home."

Suddenly, anger flared within Malia. "Why the hell didn't you tell me that you were alive, Lydia? Do you have any idea what all of us have been through? I didn't know if you were dead or alive. Stiles…Scott…your mother. All of them think you're dead, Lydia. The whole fucking town does. There was a memorial service. I kept your damn secret for almost a year…I didn't even know what had happened to you!"

Lydia looked at Malia with hurt in her eyes. She really didn't have a clue what they had been through. While she expected them to grieve, she would never understand the extent to which they suffered in her absence, while they would never understand how she had suffered in there's.

"They forbade me to tell you, Malia. They threatened the pack. They were afraid that if any of you knew I was alive, you would all return, endangering their family. Was I wrong in staying away?"

A muscle in Malia's jaw flexed, but she sighed, knowing that Lydia had done the right thing. Her anger melted. "I'm sorry, Lydia. It's just…been really difficult."

"I know." Lydia said, swallowing hard. "I'm so so sorry."

"I'm really glad that you're alive." Malia said, looking Lydia directly in the eyes; warm brown stared into vivid green.

"Me too." Lydia said, smiling. She stood up and held her hand out to help Malia stand. "I guess we should tell everyone else?"

Lydia had been on her way across Beacon Hills preserve when she had ran into Malia. She had hoped that she would see Malia first, as she felt that it would be the least shocking to Malia, who knew of the possibility that she was alive. They both quickly established that Malia should speak to the others before they saw Lydia.

Lydia didn't want to place yet another difficult task into Malia's hands, but she knew that it would be easier for the others and Malia was adamant. She was desperate to see them all, to drink in the sight of their faces, to feel their embraces. God, she had missed them. And her mother. She was anxious to see her mother, as well as her father. It would be difficult to explain, it would be emotional, but she could handle it. She was strong and she was smart. Lydia would figure it all out.

And she did.

Her mother and father were indescribably happy to discover that their daughter was not lost to them forever. It was a reunion filled with tears and hugs and Lydia felt a closeness, a neediness for their love that she hadn't felt since childhood. You never realize how much you care for something until it ceases to be a part of your life. She asked her parents not to tell anyone else that she was alive until Malia had spoken to her friends. Her parents fully understood and swore to wait to tell anyone, despite their relief and joy.

It felt odd to sleep in her own room, in her bed, away from the Calaveras, away from the desert, and the supernatural world. She felt truly safe and happy for the first time in almost a year. As she tried to sleep, her stomach ached with nerves. She didn't know how the others would react…what if they hated her for what she put them through?

The next day, Lydia and her mother spent time clearing things up with the police department, filling out paperwork, bringing Lydia Martin back to life. It reminded her of when Jackson was the kanima and they had to explain away his death to the authorities. Lydia asked her mother to make sure that they spoke to Jordan Parrish. She didn't want Stiles to find out that she was alive in the wrong place, at the wrong time. He deserved so much better. He needed to hear everything from her.

Stiles…Stiles Stilinski. Just the thought of him made her heart ache. It was odd, how they had become friends; an unlikely pair. He was her closest friend in Allison's absence. They had become so close and gotten to know each other so well, and he meant so much to her. Being away from him for so long had only served to solidify these feelings. There were nights in Mexico where she would try and imagine what it would feel like to be lying next to him, the heat of his skin warming her. When she thought of those nights, her cheeks would flush. She was glad that there was no one there to see.

She was afraid though. She was nervous to see Stiles' reaction…Lydia never meant to hurt Stiles or anyone else when she had stayed behind in Mexico, but she undoubtedly had. Stiles had once told her that when you die, it's not you who suffers, but the people you leave behind. What had her decision to live cost those who thought she was dead?

Lydia paced the floor of her room, wearing an indent in the carpet. She stopped and breathed deeply, trying and failing to relax the tension assaulting her body. Malia had promised to tell her when she was ready to take her over to Derek's house. She told Lydia that she would gather the others and they could tell them together, all at once.

Lydia showered and then stood in front of her closet, staring at the clothes inside. Dresses, skirts, and pretty blouses stared out at her. She wasn't ready though. She wasn't quite ready to be the woman she had been before. Instead she donned herself in the only pair of leggings she owned, threw on a comfy sweater and pulled on a pair of riding boots. She tossed her strawberry blonde curls into a messy bun and sat on her bed, waiting for word from Malia…

Nearly half an hour passed before she heard a knock on the door. She jumped, startled by the sudden sound in the silence. Another deep breath and a quick set of footsteps, and she was at the door. It was Malia.

"Hey." She said, looking at Lydia with concern. "You ready?"

_Hell no, I'm not ready. I'll never be ready. Not ever. _"Yeah. Let's go."


	4. Truth

By the time they arrived at Derek's loft, Lydia's stomach was in knots. She had never felt more nervous or more excited. It was an odd feeling. She wanted nothing more than to burst into the room and hold all of them in her arms, but she was also wanted to run away. Lydia felt a very acute fear. They were her friends…she loved them. But, what if they didn't love her anymore?

"I think I should go in first." Malia said gently, as they reached Derek's door. "Alone."

"Yeah, okay. I'll wait out here…"

Malia slid the door open enough to slip in and quickly shut it behind her, giving Lydia one last, encouraging look. Lydia let out the breath she'd been holding in with a _whoosh_. She felt as though her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She leaned her head against the cool metal of the door and closed her eyes, listening. She could hear the quiet murmur of Malia's voice, although she couldn't make out what was being said. It went on like this for what felt like an eternity. Then suddenly she heard a multitude of raised voices. They were all talking at once and she could only catch snatches of what they were saying.

"…how do we know it's her…"

"Derek come on…"

"You lied to us!"

"I had to…don't understand…Lydia was dying…!"

"Yeah, and you left her! How could you-"

"I was protecting her. How many times have you lied to me to protect me? Lydia would have died. I did what I had to! It wasn't easy. She's my friend too!" Malia sounded as though she were close to tears. Lydia couldn't take it anymore. It was time to be brave.

"She made the difficult choice that none of you would ever have been able to make! She saved my life." Lydia was standing in the doorway, having slid the heavy door wide open. Her heart felt as though it were beating a tattoo into her chest. Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "Don't yell at the person who saved my life and kept my secret to keep you safe. If you're going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me." Lydia walked down the steps, towards the people that had become her family, the people she had missed so terribly; the people who were staring at her as though she were a ghost. She took Malia's hand and faced the others. "The only reason I was able to come back here, to Beacon Hills, is because of Malia." She squeezed Malia's hand and gave her a small smile. She then fell silent, staring at the faces in front of her. Scott, looking at her, with a pained look on his face, Liam shocked, Derek apprehensive, and Stiles…where was Stiles?

She blinked and the tears she had held back came crashing down her cheeks as she fought down a sob. It was as though she had been holding all these tumultuous emotions inside her for 8 months, and now, facing the people she loved more than anything, it was leaking out of her, reaching out to them, begging them to understand. She struggled to remain composed. She looked almost regal, with the dim lights reflecting of her light copper hair, her strong, confident stance, her eyes, bright and clear through her tears.

Finally, the tension broke and Scott stepped forward, taking her in his arms. He enveloped her in his comforting warmth, lifting her feet off the ground. "Lydia. What happened to you? We're not…mad at you or Malia. We thought you were dead. We thought you'd never see you again. I think we're all just feeling overwhelmed. It's a lot to take in. But, we thought we'd lost someone we love. And now you're back. How could we be anything but happy? You're a part of this pack." When he finally released her, she saw that he was smiling, but also crying. It was odd, how his tears fell down his cheeks and collided with his lips. Happy and sad, coming together, as they always seemed to do in Beacon Hills. It was as though you could never have one without the other.

The alpha's movement had triggered something in the others. They all moved forward and wrapped her in their affection and happiness. She felt a surge of love and gratitude rush through her veins as they surrounded her. All of them were smiling, crying, even Derek was genuinely smiling and offered her a hug. But, the person she really wanted to see, the one person she had dreamed of being reunited with was missing. Lydia didn't feel the arms of Stiles Stilinski wrap around her, she didn't hear his laugh, smell the musky scent of his skin, see his whiskey eyes light up with joy.

"Where's Stiles?" She asked, voice quivering. The others parted, and there he was. He wore a look on his face that Lydia had never seen there before. It was a mixture of pain and disbelief…and anger. He had never looked at her this way before. This was not how she had imagined their reunion.

"I thought you were dead." Stiles said, flatly. His voice was cold and hollow. He had the look of a man who had been ill and was finally recovering, but still possessed the gaunt signs of sickness. His skin was still a shade too pale, he still had a few pounds to gain before he was whole again. His eyes looked tired and…dark. She shivered as she realized his expression reminded her of his time as the nogistune.

"I'm…I'm here. Stiles, I'm here. I'm alive. I'm so sorry." Lydia whispered. She made no move towards him, but he took a step back from her. He was clearly fragile, and she didn't want to push him. She couldn't imagine what he'd been through. It made her heart sting and ache. It made her want to rush to him, wrap him up in her until they were one. She wanted to peel away the layers of scarring that she had left on him when she died in Mexico and he had believed it…

"You're dead. You've been dead 8 months. Almost to the day." His voice was low and quivering.

"Stiles…" Scott made a move to reach out to Stiles, unsure what to do.

"Don't…" Derek said softly. "I think we should leave them for a bit."

"But…" Scott was looking at Lydia as though afraid to let her out of his sight again, as though she would disappear in a wisp of smoke the minute he walked away. His gaze then shifted to his best friend. Scott recognized that face. He had worn it himself after Allison died…

"I'll be here, Scott. I'm not going anywhere." Lydia said, reassuringly. She nodded at Malia who then gently tugged on Scott's arm and motioned for Liam to follow. With a last look at Lydia, Derek followed them up the stairs.

When it was just Lydia and Stiles, Lydia moved forward a little more and Stiles didn't retreat this time. "I'm so so sorry, Stiles."

"8 months, Lydia…I grieved for 8 months. I went to your grave twice a week…" He was crying, tears slowly making their way down his cheeks. "I missed you every single day, I went through hell trying to get over your death. You couldn't have told me you were okay?"

"Stiles. I couldn't. I'm so…so sorry. I'm sorry. I have hurt you so much and I can never make it up or take it away or make it less painful. I can't take it back no matter how much I wish I could. I've hurt you so much." Her chin was quivering and she was crying, but she stood straight and open, looking at Stiles, trying to carry enough strength in her body for both of them.

Stiles had been looking the ground, eyebrows furrowed, until she spoke those words. His head then snapped up to look her directly in the eyes. "Lydia Martin, I'm hurting. Damn, am I hurting. But, you didn't do anything to hurt me. You'd never hurt me intentionally. I know that. I don't know why you wanted us to leave you behind…but, I know you wouldn't do it for no reason." He said it clearer than anything else he had said to her. Finally, his cold exterior seemed to soften alittle, enough for her to move forward and touch him. So, she moved forward, holding his gaze, and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her tightly, as though if she let go, they would drift apart forever. He slowly wrapped his arms around her in return. They held onto each other, pressing every part of their bodies together as though they were trying to become one person. She felt Stiles' chest heave as he sobbed into her hair, she felt her own quaking as her tears dampened the shoulder of his t-shirt.

"I thought I'd never see you again." He whispered into her ear. His lips brushed her earlobe as he spoke, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Stiles Stilinski. You are my best friend. Near death experiences can't stop me from getting back to you. I…I love you. I should have said it before. But, I'm saying it now: I love you." She said through her tears.

Stiles closed his eyes and savored the feeling of her in his arms. He breathed her in, trying to convince himself that this was real, it wasn't a dream, it was real and she was here. His heart swelled with emotion; no, multiple emotions. He felt a hundred little emotions coursing through him, but one outshone the rest: love. He clung to her and her to him. When they finally broke apart they looked at one another and smiled. She reached up and ran her fingers across his jaw, down his neck. Then she stood up on tiptoes to gently kiss his pale cheek.

"Lydia…I love you, too. I love you. I've always loved you. I'm always going to love you. I'm sorry for being angry. I'm sor-"

"Shhhh," Lydia said, "it's okay. Please, don't apologize. You have no reason to. I'm sorry that I put you through this."

He stepped away from her, a fraction, to better look at her face. "You have some explaining to do." He was smiling slightly, as though he were unfamiliar with the feeling of it. Lydia smiled in return and hugged him again…

Malia, listening to their two rapidly beating hearts, smiled to herself in contentment. It was the closest to normal that Stiles had sounded in months.


	5. Want

Stiles smiled a little as he looked over at Lydia, slumped against the passenger window of his jeep, sound asleep. She looked troubled in her sleep, her brow furrowed. He almost moved his hand over to take hers, but didn't want to push her or crowd her. He didn't know everything that she had been through. And, although he was ecstatic that she was here, alive, he was unsure of where they stood. After Lydia had explained everything to them, and they had updated her on the events of the past 8 months, they had all sat talking, eating, and enjoying the sense of whole-ness that had been missing with Lydia's absence. But, now that it was just the two of them, just Stiles and Lydia, he felt an unsureness settle into his stomach.

He tried to remind himself that the past 8 months were behind them now. The pains of past were just scars; reminders of what they had been through. Lydia was alive. She was here, next to him, and everything would be okay. When they pulled into Lydia's driveway, she began to stir and stretch. She was so beautiful. Right there, in her leggings and sweatshirt, without makeup, hair in a bun. She was beautiful and he loved her and he didn't know how to tell her that he loved her as more than friends, that _I love you_ wasn't just said in the moment... So, he didn't say anything at all. He just smiled at her when she smiled at him and helped her out of the car.

When they reached the doorstep, he finally spoke. "I'm really glad you're home, Lydia. Like, really, really glad. We missed you. I missed you."

"I missed you too. All of you." She responded. They stood awkwardly, Stiles' hands shoved deep into his pockets, Lydia staring at the ground, before she finally stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you soon. Promise."

"Yeah…I'll see you soon." Stiles breathed. He could feel the heat in his face, and he grinned happily as his cheek burned with her touch.

Lydia slept better than she had in months. Although unpleasant dreams wound their way into her sleep, she found that she felt an immeasurable amount of relief when she woke up in her own bed. Being home with the people she loved was odd. She had spent so much time running, and hunting, and surviving that she had forgotten what it felt like to wake up without the feeling of a scream hovering at the back of her throat.

It was weeks before she acclimated, and could finally get into a routine. It wasn't the same routine that she had before the trip to Mexico though. There was no way to erase what had happened there. Lydia was still Lydia, but there were parts of her that would be changed forever. Some things you can't come back from without a few marks on your soul.

She began to feel something incredibly ordinary though, the longer she was home. Anxiety. Not about death, or danger, but about…Stiles. She would often replay their reunion in her head as she fell asleep at night. He had said the words to her: _I love you._ And she had said them in return. But, she meant them. God, she meant them and yet, she couldn't tell if he did. They were close friends. He and Malia were no longer dating, and Malia was even seeing Scott, so that wasn't a problem, but somehow, Lydia was unable to gauge where they stood. Lines had become blurred and all she wanted was clarity. They would watch movies together, their arms touching, hands brushing, then he would suddenly get up to make popcorn. He would drive her home, laughing and joking with her, then he would find a reason not to come inside with her. There was a constant tug and pull. One minute, it felt as though they were teetering on the edge of something…and the next, that something felt as though it had been buried beneath the ground, below them, close, but out of reach.

Lydia couldn't stand it anymore. She loved Stiles. She _wanted_ Stiles. She wanted to know what the skin of his chest felt like, what his hair would look like after she ran her fingers through it, what his lips would feel like against her neck…Lydia Martin pursued the things she wanted. She would rather tell Stiles and have him refuse her, than never tell him at all.

It was just before sunset, too early for his father to be home, when Stiles heard the sound of tires on pavement. He stood to peek out of his window, and saw Lydia's blue car parked below. His stomach did a backflip as he struggled to contain the tempestuous mixture of emotions coursing through him. After a few panicked moments, he looked down and realized that he wasn't wearing pants. Instead, he was wearing his favorite maroon and white baseball tee and boxers.

"Shit!" He muttered as he rummaged through his drawers and yanked on a pair of pants. The doorbell rang as he pulled up the zipper, and tripped his way to the steps. "COMING!" He shouted down them. Stiles closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. It was fine. Everything was fine. She probably just came to bring him the sweatshirt he'd left at her house when they were studying together last week…

When he opened the door, Lydia was indeed in possession of the sweatshirt he'd left at her house, however, she wasn't holding it in her hands, she was wearing it. She was wearing his hoodie over her short, flow-y skirt and cropped tank and for some reason…this was incredibly appealing. Stiles felt an ache low in his stomach as he said "Hey, Lyds! What's up? Did you bring my sweatshirt?" Stiles cringed to himself as she brushed past him into the front hall, silently cursing himself. _Why the fuck did I just say that?_

"Clearly, I didn't just bring it, I wore it. But, you can have it back if you really want it." Lydia said, her lips curling into a smirk, cheeks dimpling.

"Nah. I think you should keep it. It looks better on you anyways." Stiles said, with a laugh. _Yes. That's right. Say real things, Stiles. Don't fuck up. Be normal. _

"Okay, so I guess, since I'm not here to return your hoodie, you're probably wondering why I'm here." Lydia stated.

"Well, yeah…but, I mean, I like having you here so-"

"I love you, Stiles." Lydia blurted out. "And not just as friends." She didn't blush, didn't look away from Stiles' face. He admired her confidence and courage. Her words left him speechless. His heart soared at her words, and he felt almost lightheaded.

"Lydia…" Was all Stiles found himself able to utter. He moved towards her, slowly, desperately wanting to close the gap between them and touch his lips to hers.

"I know this is kind of abrupt and everything. But, I mean, I thought about you a lot in Mexico and ever since that night when I saw you again…I haven't been able to stop myself from thinking about you, Stiles. Being away from you for so long made me realize, that I don't want that. I don't want to ever have to be away from you like that again. I love you. I love every damn part of you, you spastic dork. You're my best friend. But, I want…I want us to be more. I want to be more, Stiles. If you don't, then just tell me, but I want more. I want it all, because I'm selfish and after 8 months without you, I just, I want-"

But, whatever else it was she wanted, Stiles never knew. Before she could finish, he finally closed the space between them. Her lips were soft, and warm against his. Her frame was small, but he could feel the muscle that had formed beneath the porcelain skin, as his hands raked over her back, beneath her hoodie.

They parted, breathless, and Stiles whispered, "I love you, Lydia. I've always loved you. You know that. I was just waiting to see if you loved me back, in the same way that I love you. I just…I didn't want to rush into anything if it wasn't what you wanted. I never stopped loving you…" She had to understand. Stiles just wanted Lydia to be happy, rather that was with him or not. The fact that she did want to be with him was overwhelming. Lydia's cheeks were flushed and she was smiling, her eyes closed as she rested her forehead against his chest. Then she raised her head to look into his eyes again. Stiles held her gaze for a few seconds before he blinked and his eyes dropped to her swollen lips. Without hesitation, he leaned forward and kissed her again, harder this time, and her lips parted to welcome him, her tongue sliding against his lower lip. He felt her mouth curve into a smile and he growled slightly, low in his chest.

Stiles gave in. He stopped worrying about how he looked to her, he stopped questioning what was about to happen. Lydia would take care of that. He surrendered control to her. He had fought to control so many feelings for so long. Fuck control. Loosing himself in Lydia was far more satisfying.

He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, his lips drifting to her neck as he pressed her up against a wall. Lydia's breathing hitched in her chest and she said, "I didn't know you had it in you, Stiles."

He ceased his trail of kisses down the center of her chest long enough to say, "You've been gone a long time…I've had time to work up the courage." He looked her in the eyes with so much love. It wasn't lust that drove him. Stiles genuinely loved Lydia and was grateful that she had returned, that she was alive, that she loved him too. He gently kissed her again and then set her back on her feet. Lydia took his hand and led him up the stairs. His heart thumped, and his chest heaved as he followed her, never taking his eyes off of her swaying hips and bouncing waves of strawberry blonde hair.

Stiles worshipped her body. Every inch of her was a something special that she was sharing with him, trusting him with. Stiles removed Lydia's clothing with care, he watched her, listened to her, tried to give her everything that she wanted, and everything she deserved…

Lydia's skin burned where his lips pressed against her, leaving a trail of fire down her body. She tousled his hair carelessly, enjoying the feeling of it between her fingers. How many times had she sat in Mexico and thought of this? Whenever Stiles' fingers fumbled, whenever he looked at her, unsure, she would guide him, reassure him. Finally, she settled herself on top of him, and swayed against him until they found a rhythm and things fell into place. Her body was on fire with a thousand exploding nerve endings. Everything felt so right. They were right where they were supposed to be. Their bodies fit together seamlessly as they attempted to occupy the same space, as they strived to become one. They melted into one another and Lydia heard Stiles' desperate breath beneath her as she continued to move against him, his hands holding her hips, rubbing circles into her skin. She felt her own breath catch in her throat, with pleasure instead of dread. Nothing existed outside of her and Stiles…

When it was over, she laid against him. Sweat clung to his body and his chest heaved up and down, his heart trying to return to a steady pace. The scent of him was intoxicating, comforting, and lulled her into a comfortable state between waking and sleeping. Stiles rolled over to face her and grinned, his whiskey eyes half closed in contentment. Lydia snuggled closer to him and he rested his head against her chest.

"I love you so much." Stiles whispered, his breath tickling her skin.

"I love you too, Stiles Stilinski."

She gently ran her fingers through his hair, her eyes closed. She wanted to remember this feeling forever; this feeling of being anchored to something real, something that mattered. This mattered. Stiles mattered. Lydia had never felt more raw and real and open that she did in that moment.

They awoke in a tangle of limbs and soft, cotton sheets. The sun had set and moonlight was creeping into Stiles' room. His phone rang, breaking the comfortable silence, and Stiles reached across Lydia to answer it.

"Hey, Dad." Stiles rubbed his eyes and laid back. Lydia yawned and snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his chest.

"Hey, kiddo. I'm going to be late tonight," his dad said, sounding weary.

"Everything okay?" Stiles asked, worry creeping into him again.

"Yes! Everything is fine. I've just got a lot of paper work to file and some small things to take care of. Don't stay up for me, I'm not sure how long I'll be."

Relief settled in. Everything was fine. "Alright! Um…Dad, is it okay if Lydia stays over here tonight?" Lydia looked up at Stiles, questioningly.

"Lydia Martin? Well…I guess it's alright. As long as you two are…as long as you're responsible and…er…"

"Dad. That's enough. It's fine. We're fine. You can stop right there. Please, I'm begging you: go no further with that."

Stiles' dad chuckled before hanging up the phone.

"Oh, so I'm staying the night am I?" Lydia asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, I thought, maybe if you wanted to…" Stiles said, nervously.

"Hmmmm…I guess I could do that. Let me call my mom."

Lydia reached down and grabbed Stiles' shirt from the floor, pulling it over her head and smelling the collar. It smelled like Stiles' skin; fresh, warm, and slightly musky. Stiles grinned as Lydia looked at him over the collar of the shirt, only her eyes visible. He leaned over and gently pressed his lips to her neck, before snuggling back into the sheets. Lydia climbed off of the bed, the t-shirt fitting her more like a dress, and went downstairs to find her phone and call her mom. Stiles smiled to himself, content with the world. Every moment of hurt he had endured was worth this moment of happiness.

Lydia turned in the doorway to look back at him, her heart swelling, butterflies careening around in her stomach. They deserved this happiness. After everything they had endured, they deserved to feel happy, to feel whole. Allison would have been proud of her.


	6. Catalyst

_It was remarkable how a place so hot during the day, could be so chilly at night. Lydia shivered as she crawled out of her sleeping bag and out into the desert. Moonlight lit the sand and rock that crunched beneath her tall boots. She looked behind her, checking to make sure that the Calavaras were still sleeping. She didn't notice the empty sleeping bag in the corner…_

_Lydia missed Beacon Hills. She missed her mother. She missed Stiles. She missed Scott, and Malia, and Kira…She missed Allison. But, there was nothing she could do about that. They had been searching for Kate for months now. 8 months, almost to the day. She remembered being torn from her life in Beacon Hills vividly. Too vividly. The pain of the bullet tearing through her skin, Malia's warm arms reluctantly holding her tightly before letting her go, the sound of Stiles' incomprehensible screams…_

_She had to stop herself before she fell apart and cried. If she started now, she'd never stop. She settled down on a rock a few feet away from the camp site. Far enough to feel like she was a good distance, but not far enough to cause them alarm if they noticed she was gone. She pulled her knees up to her chest, and looked down at her hands, clasped around her calves. Her knuckles shown with tiny scars in the silver light of the moon. Scars from the harsh desert, pummeling at her porcelain skin. _

_Lydia sighed. She was tired, but she couldn't sleep. She was constantly on edge, forever anxious, unable to feel at ease while surrounded by people who only protected her so that they could use her, people who would kill her in a heartbeat if necessary. Eventually, Lydia became too cold to sit in the cool night air, so she started the walk back to the camp, taking her time. Before she had made it 10 feet, a sound to her right put her on guard. It had sounded like a pair of large boots grating against the dirt. She stood stock still, listening hard. It didn't take her long to find the source. One of the hunters, large and crude, was standing to her side, in the shadow of a large rock formation. _

"_Out a bit late aren't you? Not trying to make a run for it are we?" He said, leering. _

_Lydia swallowed hard and clenched her jaw, glaring at him. "Wouldn't that involve running?" Without waiting for an answer she made to walk away, but he grabbed her upper arm in a firm grip. His smile had disappeared. _

"_I don't like your attitude, you little bitch."_

_Lydia bristled and looked down at his hand gripping her arm. Then she raised her eyes to his and said "Take your hand off me. Now."_

"_What're you going to do if I don't? Are you going to scream little banshee?" He asked, roughly._

"_I might, if you don't let me go. Do you really want to wait and see what kind of scream it is though?" Lydia didn't have to say anymore. It was implied. "Now, take your hands off of me." His grip tightened. _

"_I'll put my hands wherever I damn well please-" He yanked her towards him, grabbing her other wrist, pushing her into the rock that he had slithered out from behind…Lydia Martin had read countless articles on how to defend herself in these kinds of situations. Her heart was pounding, but she fought to remain calm, terrified of what would happen if she panicked, if he threw her to the ground. He licked her ear and she felt as though she would be sick. She could feel every part of him pressed against her, could smell his putrid sweat in the air as he moved to drag her to the ground._

_But, before he could shove her to the ground, she tightened her muscles and lifted her knee, hitting him in the groin, hard. He immediately let go of her and she backed away, keeping her eyes on him, but ready to run. Where could she run though? She thought quickly, trying to clear her head, but she took just a moment too long. Without warning, he lunged and she was yanked to the ground. There was anger in his eyes, a curse on his lips. The force of her fall knocked the wind from her lungs and her head smacked into the rocks. She cried out, her eyes streaming, her head throbbing. _

_No. No. No. She had to move. _

_He made to throw his weight onto her, but she was prepared this time. She threw up her arms, locked straight. His chest fell onto them, but her arms didn't fold. She bent her knees and pushed against his hips, hard, enough to shove him back a few inches. She then pulled her legs up and kicked him in the chin. Lydia kicked and kicked and kicked, feeling the crunch of bone breaking until her boots were caked in blood and he fell back, away from her. His gun had fallen from his belt in the struggle. Lydia grabbed it. _

_She pulled herself up from the ground and ran, her heart pounding, her lungs aching. She felt a scream quivering in her vocal chords. But for who? She could hear his footsteps behind her, hear him stumbling. If he got ahold of her, he wasn't going to wait until he'd had his way with her, he was going to kill her on the spot. _

_Lydia didn't know which direction she was running in, but she kept going, trying to put as much distance between herself and the hunter as possible. She couldn't run fast enough though. She was tiring and her head was pounding. There was blood in her mouth, but she didn't know where it came from. _She's going to die in this damn desert. She's never going to see Stiles again_. There was only one thing to do. Kill or be killed. He was almost on her again. Lydia turned, she slid the chamber into place with a _click_. He didn't slow, he didn't so much as blink. She aimed, and squeezed the trigger. She screamed-_

"NOOOOOO." Lydia shot up in bed, screaming, crying, and shaking. She was covered in sweat. She tugged and scratched at the arms attempting to restrain her. But, these arms were not the large, dark, rough arms she was expecting. These were pale and strong, but gentle.

"Lydia! Lydia! You're okay! It's okay! It's just a dream!" Stiles' eyes were wide, as he tried to calm her.

Lydia sunk into his arms, crying. This didn't normally happen when she was with Stiles. She typically only relived that horror at home, when she slept alone. She wiped at her tears, embarrassed, still shaking.

"Lydia, you're okay, I'm here. I'm here…" Stiles whispered, stroking her hair, rocking her slightly. As Lydia's heartbeat slowed and she began to relax, she felt even more embarrassed. Thank god Stiles' dad was pulling another late shift.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled, pulling away from him.

"Shhhh, don't be. Are you okay?" She could tell he was worried.

"I'm fine. I just had a bad dream. That's all." Lydia couldn't meet his eyes.

Stiles rubbed her back, gently. "You were whimpering in your sleep…something about having to get away." His gaze was penetrating, searching.

Lydia's heart jumped. She couldn't have this discussion with him. Not now. Not yet.

"I don't remember what I was dreaming about."

"Lyds, I can tell when you're lying. You've never been a good liar." Stiles' eyebrows knitted together.

"Maybe I should head home…" Lydia said. She didn't want to, but she didn't want to keep Stiles up, and she didn't want to have to tell him about her dream; about what she had done. "I just need to take a hot bath and relax, or something. And you need to get some sleep without me waking you up."

"Hey, whatever is bothering you, whatever is going on, you can tell me. You can talk to me." Stiles said, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her forehead. "Telling me something is wrong doesn't mean you're weak, you know."

Lydia rolled her eyes, even though she knew he was right. He was always right. He knew her too well. She hated keeping things from him, but this was something she couldn't face just yet. She just wanted to drown herself in their love and forget about the past.

"I'll stay here with you if you let me take a bath before I get back into bed. You can get some sleep, and I will take a relaxing bath. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked.

Lydia didn't answer. Instead she stood up, pulling her t-shirt over her head. She dropped it on the floor and walked towards the bathroom, turning to see Stiles' eyes on her. He stood up and followed her into his bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He drew her a bath, and poured in some bath salts that he had for days when he was sore after lacrosse. Then he watched as she pulled her copper waves into a bun and slowly lowered herself into the water until it covered her milk-white skin. Lydia's cheeks flushed pink, the heat of the water finally warming her, until she no longer shook. When she met Stiles' gaze, his expression wasn't what she expected. He looked oddly sad.

"Is that better?" Stiles asked her, sitting on the edge of the tub.

"Yes, thank you." She responded.

Stiles took a wet rag across Lydia's back, gently rubbing. Lydia pulled her knees to her chest, just as she had on that rock a few weeks ago. She felt tears welling up into her eyes. Part of her wanted to tell Stiles what had happened, what she had done, how she had really escaped Mexico…But, part of her was afraid and ashamed, and she didn't know what to do. So, instead of speaking, she tilted her head up and kissed Stiles, tugging his shirt off of him, undressing him, allowing him to sink into the hot water with her. Between the heat of the water, and the warmth of his skin, she was able to relax and swallow the words. She would tell him another day.

The longer Lydia kept this secret to herself, the more uneasy she felt. This wasn't something small; this act had forever changed her life. She would never be the Lydia Martin she had been before. Lydia wasn't sure she could accept this herself, let alone expect the others to accept it. Something inside her felt wrong, foreign, and it scared her.

She awoke one night, drenched in sweat, her stomach reeling. Lydia held herself over the toilet, heaving, her stomach struggling to rid itself of the knot that had formed there. She stood and rinsed her face and brushed her teeth. Her reflection stared back at her as she sighed. She looked the same, except a few freckles and scars, so why did she feel like a different person? Allison would understand, she would know what to do, how to fix this. But, Allison wasn't there. She would never be there again.

Lydia sat in bed, debating, before she finally picked up her phone and dialed Malia's number, "Hey, Malia, Scott and Stiles are hanging out tonight, right? You could come over and we could have a girl's night or something."

Less than half an hour passed before Malia knocked on the door and entered Lydia's room. "I brought ice cream and shit. That's what girl's nights are all about, right?" She was smiling when she walked into the room, but her smile dropped as she looked at Lydia. "Lydia? What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"I'm…Malia, there's something wrong with me."

"What's the matter? What happened?" Malia's eyes narrowed as she shut the door and made for the bed. She sat next to Lydia, tucking her legs beneath her and gazing intently at her friend. The look of genuine concern in her eyes, reminded Lydia of Allison.

"I never told you how I really escaped Mexico, Malia. I wasn't entirely honest with you."

"What happened? What do you mean?"

"The Calavaras didn't just let me go, Malia. Something very bad happened, and in the confusion, I escaped."

"What? But…what happened? I don't understand." Malia said, slowly.

"The day before I came home, we were hunting Kate and we were so close. Araya felt as though we were on the brink of catching her. So, at nightfall, we set up a camp. I woke up in the middle of the night, and I walked out into the desert until I reached a rock that I could sit on. I couldn't sleep and I wanted to be alone…" Lydia's eyes had a glazed look as she stared into space, remembering.

"When I attempted to return to the campsite, one of the hunters…he stopped me. He…" Lydia stopped and took a deep breath. Malia was already sure that she knew what was coming. She took Lydia's small, soft hand into hers. "He…attacked me. And so I killed him. I shot him."

Lydia closed her eyes, a pained expression on her face.

"Oh my gosh…Oh, Lydia." Malia whispered. She didn't know what to say. Lydia looked up at her, waiting, listening, but instead of saying anything, Malia pulled Lydia to her. Her warm, tanned arms wrapped around Lydia, holding her, comforting her.

"He would've killed me, Malia. He was going to kill me, and I stopped him. I stopped him." Lydia choked out. She wasn't crying, but she sounded on edge, as though, any moment, she would snap or crumble or combust.

"You did what you had to, Lydia. He was going to hurt you…kill you and you did what had to be done." Malia said, quietly. "You did what you had to, to survive."

"I murdered him. I raised the gun, I aimed, and I squeezed the trigger. And you know that the worst part is? I didn't even think twice. All I could think about was stopping him. I just wanted him to stop…I wanted to stop the stares and the rude jokes and the constant fear. I didn't want to ever feel his arms on me again, or give him the chance to hurt anyone else. So, I killed him, before he could kill me. And I don't regret it Malia. I don't regret it. And that terrifies me. I murdered someone and I don't even feel guilty. I feel guilty about _not_ feeling guilty." The laugh that escaped her felt panicked, wrong.

Malia pulled away from her to look her in the eyes. "Lydia Martin. A very bad person was trying to hurt you and you defended yourself with the tools at hand. You fought and you won, and here you are, because of it. There is no shame in what you did, Lydia. You didn't murder a man for sport, you didn't enjoy it. If you hadn't killed him, you would be dead, and there would be one less good human being in the world."

"Malia, what if killing him, makes me as bad as them? What if Kate's right?"

"What does Kate have to do with this?" Malia asked, looking startled.

Lydia swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and plunged on. "When the hunter died, after I shot him, I screamed. It was like I couldn't stop. But, it wasn't just the hunter's death that caused my scream. I told you we were close to Kate. And we were. Kate is smart. And she's stealthy. And she has people on her side, Malia. I ran back to the camp. I was going to steal one of the trucks and run before they could catch me, but, when I got there, nearly everyone in the camp was dead. Only a few, including Araya, escaped. I saw her and a few other hunters driving off. Kate was there. She had killed them in their sleep. She's never exactly played fair…but, she saw me. She came towards me, she looked at the blood on my body…and she said that I was no better than the rest of them. I thought she was going to kill me, but then shots came out of nowhere and she fled. And so did I…I stole a car, I hotwired it, and I drove all the way home. I only stopped once to change clothes and clean myself up before I came back here. Before I came home."

"Why didn't you tell us? Lydia, why didn't you tell us what happened right away?" Malia looked simultaneously hurt and confused and worried.

"I didn't want any of you to view me differently. I killed a man. I let Kate go. We're still in danger from Kate and the Calavaras and I could've made things much worse. It was stupid of me to keep this to myself." Lydia said. Malia had to understand.

"Lydia…I killed my own mother and little sister. Do you really think that I don't understand how you're feeling right now? And as for Kate…there was nothing you could've done to stop her. You did what you had to. You haven't put us in any more danger than we are already in. I promise you. But, we have to tell Scott. We have to warn the others. And you need to talk to Stiles. Everything will be okay."

Lydia nodded, feeling relieved and yet worried. She had waited long enough; too long. All she wanted was for the danger to pass, but she was glad that she no longer had to keep the knowledge of her experiences in Mexico to herself. "Malia, would you mind staying here for tonight?" Lydia felt odd.

"Of course." Malia said without hesitation. Lydia gave Malia a pair of her pajamas to borrow, and she slipped them on. They were too short on her, exposing her slender, but strong ankles, but she looked comfortable all the same, and happy to be of comfort to Lydia.

They pulled the comforter back and climbed into bed, shutting off the lights and snuggling down under the blankets. Malia turned onto her side, staring at Lydia's profile.

"Lydia, do you love Stiles?"

Lydia, caught off guard, turned quickly to look at Malia, eyes wide. "Do you…still have feelings for him?" She asked, by way of response.

"No!" Malia laughed, "That's not what I was getting at. I mean, Stiles loves you so much. It's all over him. He would do anything for you Lydia. He'll love you no matter what."

Lydia stared at Malia. She smiled slightly and said, "I love Stiles more than anything on this earth. I don't ever want to hurt him."

Malia nodded. "He'll understand, Lydia. It'll be okay. We'll figure this out as a pack."

"Yeah…" Lydia turned on her side to look at Malia head on. "So, what about you and Scott?"

"What about me and Scott?" Malia asked, her cheeks reddening.

"Are you guys together or what?" Lydia asked, smiling.

"Kind of…I guess. I mean, I hope it's not weird for anyone…but, whatever we are, I hope we stay that way. Or get closer. Because I _really _like Scott. He is all kinds of amazing."

Lydia laughed. "Scott Mccall is nothing short of amazing. That is true. I can't believe you guys never thought of each other like this before…I'm happy for you, Malia. You deserve to be happy."

"So do you, Lydia. Rather you believe it or not, right now." Malia said quietly, taking Lydia's small, porcelain hand in hers and squeezing it. They fell asleep like that, two girls tethered by their fingertips, clinging to what normalcy they had.


	7. Scars

Stiles' phone rang in the darkness, startling him from his half-asleep state. He looked at the alarm clock; red numbers shone into his eyes. It was 7:30 am, on a Saturday and he was laying on Scott's bed, freezing, as Scott Mccall had yet again stolen all the covers. Stiles had spent at least 10 minutes attempting to wrench the sheets from his best friend before giving up and resigning himself to sleeping more-than-slightly chilled. The light of the phone and the obnoxious ringing had quickly robbed him of his rest. He looked at Scott, still snoring loudly, and grabbed his phone. It was Lydia. Without a thought, he leapt from the bed, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

"Lydia? Are you okay?" Stiles whispered into the phone.

"Stiles! Yeah, I'm…I'm fine. I'm sorry if I woke you-"

"Lydia, if there is one person I am 100 percent okay with waking me up in the early hours of the morning, it is you." Stiles yawned, rubbing at his eyes.

"I need to talk to you. Malia stayed the night last night, but she woke up early to go on a run and she had to get back to Derek about, well, that's what I need to talk to you about actually." Lydia said in a rush.

"Wait, what? You need to talk to me about Malia and Derek?" Stiles' brain was still foggy with sleepiness.

"No, I need to talk to you about what Malia is talking to Derek about. And what we'll need to talk to Scott about as soon as possible." Lydia said, sounding worried. Stiles began to feel the familiar itch of anxiety in his chest.

"What's going on? Should I wake Scott up?"

"No! No. I…I want to talk to you first if that's okay. That's why I'm calling so early. I want to talk to you and then we can talk to Scott."

"Lydia, you're starting to worry me…"

"Stiles, please don't worry. Everything is fine! I just need to talk to you about some things. That's all…Now, get over here, before my mother wakes up." Lydia hung up the phone before Stiles could respond. He shook his head and came out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. He had barely made it a foot out of the door before Scott's voice mumbled:

"S'matter? What's happening?"

"Nothing, I'm leaving. Lydia wants me to come over."

"Ooooooo!" Scott said, eyes still closed.

"Hey, Scotty!"

"What?"

"Shut up." Stiles said throwing a pillow at his best friend with a grin. "I'll talk to you later."

Stiles arrived at Lydia's house at 8:00 am. When he got there the door was unlocked, so he let himself in and tip-toed his way up the stairs to Lydia's room. She was sitting on the bed, wrapped up in a blanket, reading a book. She was so beautiful; the light of morning shone on her porcelain face, giving it a soft glow. Her copper hair shimmered, falling in soft waves over her shoulder to frame her face. Stiles leaned against the doorframe smiling.

"Hey, pretty lady. Can I come in?" He said quietly, smiling at her.

She looked up at him with a start, and smiled slightly, looking more sad than happy. Stiles' smile slipped away and a concerned frown took its place. He shut the door softly behind him and moved to join her on her bed, kicking off his shoes as he went.

"What's wrong, Lydia?" Stiles asked, taking her small, soft hand in his. His heart was pounding, terrified of what she would tell him. Was she going to break up with him? Had something happened?

"Stiles, I need to tell you something. And, I want you to promise me, that after I tell you this, you'll try not to see me differently. Please." Stiles could tell from her tone that she was dead serious about this. His anxiety increased.

"Lydia, I love you. Nothing will change that. What's going on?" She turned toward him, looking into his eyes, and took a deep breath. Then she told him her story. She told him how she really escaped the Calavaras. How she had been attacked by a hunter in the night. How she had fought him off, and in the end, killed him with his own gun. And lastly, how she had then made her way back to the camp, only to find nearly all of the hunters dead, slaughtered by Kate Argent. Stiles let Lydia speak, without interrupting. He knew how important it was that she get all of this out. It was as though she were syphoning the poison of this experience from her veins, purging her body of the horrors she had witnessed. His heart ached at her words. He felt a deep anger stir in his stomach at the thought of anyone hurting Lydia, and an even deeper sense of worry for her safety in the future. Kate was not to be trusted; she had let Lydia live for a reason and Stiles would be damned if he allowed Kate Argent to even contemplate laying a hand on her.

"So…so, that's how I got home. I ran, Stiles. I jumped in one of the trucks and I fled until I made it home. And now I might have brought danger to the whole pack. I killed the hunter, I faced Kate, and I ran." Lydia's voice was quivering. Stiles had looked away, thinking, but his eyes darted back to Lydia when he heard the pain in her voice.

"Lydia…You saved your own life from a murderous lunatic. And you faced Kate Argent and lived. You survived. You did what any of the rest of us would have." Stiles said softly, taking her face in his hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Please don't ever apologize for stopping someone from taking your life."

"Stiles, I _killed_ someone. I can't stop thinking about it all. The cold metal against my palm, the jolt as I fired. And then all the people in the camp…" A tear escaped Lydia's eyes and Stiles brushed it away with his thumb.

"You're going to be okay. You know that right? You're stronger than you think you are. You're going to get through this. I know it isn't easy, but, you are not a murderer, Lyds. You're not. I know that, Scott knows that, Malia knows that, and so do you. You were scared, and in danger, and any one of us would have done the same. I…I killed people when I was the nogitsune. I know what you're feeling to some extent."

"But that wasn't you!" Lydia protested.

"But it was my body. My hands, my voice. I was conscious of everything I did. Even when we were in separate bodies, it was like we were still connected somehow. I have to live every day knowing what my body did without my consent. Sometimes I have nightmares about things he did…things I wasn't in his body for. I remember hurting my best friend, but I dream about him pushing you against the wall, taunting you under Eichen House. I remember his satisfaction when…when Allison…when…" Stiles' chest began to tighten. He breathed deeply, forcing himself to remain calm. It was over, it was over. These words were like a mantra, always in his mind, reminding him that things were different now; he was better, they were all moving on. Except they weren't. Not really. Since Allison had died, their world had only seemed to continue to crash and burn. Lydia's struggles were proof of this.

"Stiles, Allison's death wasn't your fault." Lydia said, quietly. "That wasn't you."

"Listen, the point is, you are not a bad person. You're not a murderous monster. You're Lydia Martin and you're good and you're strong and you stopped a very bad person from killing you. As for Kate killing all those people, even if you had known, you wouldn't have been able to stop her. You know that, Lydia."

Lydia only stared at him, her eyebrows furrowed, her expression troubled. Stiles hated to see her this way. It just wasn't fucking fair that they had to push through all of this.

Stiles turned Lydia's bed down, taking off his clothes until he stood in his boxers, then he slid beneath the sheets and watched as Lydia snuggled down into the sheets with him. He laid as close to her as possible, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. She looked up at him and kissed his jawline. He kissed her forehead in return, then slowly rolled over to lay on top of her. She slid her hands up and down the muscles of his upper arms, looking up into his eyes with an adoration that made his heart throb with affection. He looked at her small hands and noticed the scars scattered across her porcelain knuckles. He pressed his lips to the damaged skin, each kiss a promise; he would never allow someone to hurt her again. While his heart was beating, he would keep her safe.

He kissed the scar behind her ear, where her head had crashed into the rocks that night when Kate had murdered werewolf hunters, and Lydia had saved her own life. He kissed the delicate skin of her breast, above her heart. Then he gently lifted her shirt and kissed the puckered, shining skin on her stomach, to the left of her bellybutton, where the bullet had torn through her skin. Lydia ran her fingers through his dark brown hair, tears running silently down her cheeks. She felt the warmth of Stiles' lips on her stomach, and he tasted the salt of her sadness as he made his way back to her mouth and kissed her softly, whispering that he loved her over and over again, until he was sure that she knew, sure that she wouldn't forget that he had loved her and always would; so that she would know why he did what he planned to do.


	8. Sacrifice

Lydia fell asleep for a few hours while Stiles laid awake next to her, breathing her in, savoring the feeling of her next to him. While Lydia slept, his mind went into overdrive. As soon as he had realized it, his mind had begun to form a plan; Kate wanted the person who killed Allison, and that was exactly who she was going to get. No one else.

While getting ready to go to Scott's house, Lydia asked at least 4 times, if something was wrong. He was being too quiet and Lydia was too perceptive. He tried to force himself to talk, to remain calm and normal, but it was hard when he was sure that they were in imminent danger. Talking to Scott about everything had been easier given that Malia had taken the time to explain things before Lydia and Stiles arrived at his house. But, it still sent his heart into a panic, as everything they discussed seemed only to confirm his theory. However, he decided to keep his thoughts to himself for the time being.

Malia sat on the back of the couch in the living room, Scott sitting in front of her. Stiles resumed pacing and Lydia sat in a comfortable chair next to Scott. Liam was there, unwillingly, sitting next to Scott, and Derek was standing in the archway leading to the kitchen, a grimace on his face.

"We need to find Kate and just get this over with. She's a fucking psychopath, Scott." Derek said, arms crossed. "She killed my whole family, turned me into my fifteen year old self, attempted to kill all of us yet again by working with my psychopathic uncle, and then made some kind of threat to Lydia."

"She didn't exactly threaten me…" Lydia said, turning to look over her shoulder at Derek. Stiles paused and stood next to Lydia, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Lydia, Kate breathing on you is practically a threat. She's a walking time bomb bent on revenge. Again." Stiles said, huffily.

"Well, we haven't heard anything from her yet, or anything about her right?" Scott asked, surveying the room.

Everyone shook their heads. Malia then said, "That's not necessarily a good thing though. She could be hiding out, biding her time. What was the point of her actions? What's she doing? How do we prepare if we don't even know what's coming? Or if anything is even coming at all?"

"I don't believe that Kate murdered a group of hunters and then let Lydia go for no reason. This is Kate Argent we're talking about. Kate Argent. Did anyone mention that she's a psychopath? Do you want to list off the shit she's pulled again, Derek? In case anyone needs a refresher?" Stiles said, sighing exasperatedly. Lydia reached up to squeeze his hand, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Sorry." He muttered. "I'm just feeling a little worried about this whole thing."

"We all are." Scott said, looking up at his best friend. "We're all worried. But…we have to try and stay calm and work together."

"Does the "we" include me?" Liam asked looking around at all of them. "I'm not exactly a trained werewolf. And I really don't want to face a near death experience again…"

"Join the club." Stiles said with a scowl; Derek rolled his eyes at the same moment.

"We know that you're not exactly thrilled about everything that's happening, Liam, and I know that we haven't had much time to teach you things. But, we've been working on it. And we need all the help we can get here."

Liam just nodded, looking down into his lap. He reminded Stiles of Scott at 15; young, selfish, desperate to return to the life he had, and painfully unable to. But, there was potential to grow into something more, just as there had been with Scott.

"How do we know something is going to happen though? Who's coming at us from where?" Malia said, raising her hands in the air, then letting them drop limply on her lap. "Maybe we should just leave it and see what happens; maybe try not poking something unless it needs poking…"

"We have to be proactive about this." Lydia argued, "If we aren't, then we're lambs waiting for the slaughter."

"Are you sure you guys aren't just paranoid?" Liam said quietly, staring at each of them in turn. "Because of what happened with-"

"Don't." Scott said, darkly, his eyes glowing red, and then fading back to brown. "Don't go there."

Liam fell silent, his cheeks reddening.

After a few hours of going in circles, they all decided to sleep on things and make a final decision in the morning.

"Yo, Scotty, you got a minute?" Stiles said, his hand on Scott's shoulder.

"Yeah, of course." Scott walked him into the laundry room where they were separate from the others.

"Scott, I think I know what's going on. And…it's not good."

"What do you mean?" Scott said, confused.

"I've been thinking about this since last night when Lydia and I talked about everything. I think…I think Kate didn't kill Lydia because Lydia isn't who she wants. I think she still wants the person responsible for Allison's death. I think she wants…me." Stiles said this with the finality of a dying man, as though this were the only explanation, the only truth.

"Stiles…I'm not trying to say that it's not a possibility. But, you're a human. If Kate wanted you, she could've taken you and killed you at any point." Scott said, pondering his best friend's words.

"Scott…" Stiles said, his voice quivering, his hands shaking. "Scott, I honestly believe this is what she wants. So, I think that you should just…"

"Stiles, don't." Scott said, firmly. "You are not responsible for Allison's death. And no one's handing you over. So, don't even suggest it."

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but clamped it shut, falling silent. Maybe it was better this way; then there would be no one to blame but himself. Stiles didn't have much family, but he loved the people that he had and would do anything to protect them, even if it meant giving up the chance to live out his life with those people.

Scott gave him a concerned look and squeezed his shoulder. "Everything's going to be okay. We'll do this together. No more falling apart." He nodded his head as though reassuring himself more than Stiles, and left his best friend standing in the laundry room alone. Lydia came in, clearly searching for him.

"Hey, what're you doing? I was looking for you. Ready to head home?" She looked exhausted; drained from reliving her nightmarish experiences over and over, and repeatedly discussing the consequences of it. Stiles desperately wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort her, tell her that it was fine. But he knew that she would see right through his words and had no desire to arise any suspicions. So, instead he grasped her hand, and took her to his house, watching her ascend the stairs to his room before going into the kitchen to see his dad.

"Hey, kiddo!" His dad said smiling. "I was starting to get a little worried."

"I was over at Scott's. I should have called. I'm really sorry." Stiles said, lacking the usual amount of buoyancy his voice seemed to hold. His father looked at him, scrutinizing his son, recognizing distress almost immediately.

"Stiles, did something happen?" He asked, moving closer to his son.

"No, dad. I'm fine. I'm just tired…you know, what with everything that's been going on with wolf stuff and…stuff. I just wanted to let you know that I'm home. And Lydia is staying the night, if that's alright." Stiles said, not quite meeting his dad's eyes, afraid that if he did, they would give him away.

"Alright…if you say so."

Stiles let out a tense breath caked with the remnants of his lie. He was not fine. Who would his father have if something happened to him? "Hey, dad…"

"Yeah?" His father didn't look up from the files he was reading that were spread across the table in front of him.

"I love you." Stiles said, forcing his voice to sound stronger than he felt. "I don't say it enough. But, I do, dad. And you're my hero. You're the best. After mom died…things weren't easy, but you always took care of me and loved me no matter what shit I got into."

His father stood from the table and embraced his son, squeezing him tightly. "Stiles, what the hell is going on here?"

"Nothing. I just needed to tell you that. Okay? I just want you to know that. It's not a huge deal. Alright?"

"Look, I don't know what's going on, but you're going to be okay, alright kiddo? I love you too. And I'm proud of you. I'll always be here. I'm your dad." He said, kissing the top of his son's head. Stiles clung to his father, fighting the lump in his throat. He felt eight years old again, sitting in the hospital, looking at his father for the first time after his mother died. He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of sweat, savoring the cold metal of his dad's badge, trying to commit the feelings to memory. When they parted, he felt as though a draft had swept through and chilled his heart.

Stiles slowly trudged up the stairs until he reached his bedroom. He opened the door, carefully, and quietly. Lydia was standing in front of his board, looking at all the strings and pictures scattered across it, a maze of clues and suspicions. Each time he looked at her, it felt as though he were seeing her for the first time all over again, all bouncing red curls and dimpled cheeks. She was so beautiful, and so clever, and so strong; stronger than anyone he had ever known. He had seen her bend, but he had never seen her break until she screamed in the tunnels of Oak Creek, beneath the sterile halls of Eichen House. When Allison died, a piece of Lydia had seemed to die with her, and he had not seen that piece of her since…He sighed, fighting the urge to fall to his knees and give up entirely.

At the sound of his exhaling, Lydia turned and gave him a small smile that he struggled to return. Then he went to her, closing the cold distance until he felt her warmth. She was shrouded in the soft cotton of one of his t-shirts, her hair tickling his neck, and she reached up to put her arms around him and he wrapped his arms around her waist. He felt a dull ache in the pit of his stomach, begging him to hold on, but he didn't listen. He never did. It was one of his faults, not listening…

When they climbed into bed that night, Lydia snuggled close to Stiles, breathing in his scent, rubbing her hand against his chest, the other bent beneath her head for support. He stared at the ceiling, as she wondered what he could be thinking about. She had never seen him look so serious; not since he first saw her, when she had returned to Beacon Hills. All she wanted was for him to be safe and happy. She leaned over until she was hovering above him, blocking his view of the blank ceiling. He gave her a half smile before she pressed her lips to his, slowly moving downward tracing a pathway with her lips from his cheek to his stomach. She tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants, but his hand stilled hers and he brought it to his mouth, gently kissing her palm.

"I love you so much." He whispered. "You know that right?"

"What's wrong?" Lydia said, settling down on top of him, feeling the heat of his body, flush against hers. Her breath stirred the messy spikes of hair that framed his forehead.

He looked her over, as though trying to memorize the features of her face. "Nothing, Lyds. I just want you to know that. Always."

"I love you too, Stiles." She said, with a smile, shaking her head. Then she rolled off of him to lay on her side. Stiles held her closely until she fell asleep, then he carefully extricated himself from his bed and tiptoed to his dresser, pulling out some pants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. He waited to slip his shoes on until he was at the front door. He carefully opened it, then closed it behind him with a _click_.

The drive to Eichen House felt remarkably short, as though time was rushing past, cheating him of what little time he had left. Before he opened the car door, he took a deep breath and dropped the keys into the passenger seat for someone to find. He patted Roscoe's hood before jamming his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking. Then he set off for the place that held so many nightmares, that one more would easily unnoticed.

He was sure that he had figured it out. Kate wasn't the sort of person to hide and wait. She was bold, to the point of stupidity, as well as reckless. As Malia had said: Kate coming to Beacon Hills and biding her time wasn't out of the question. Where better to hide than right under everyone's noses, in the place that Kate's beloved Allison had taken her last breath, where Stiles had signed over his soul in an attempt to save his friends, and inadvertently signed Allison's death warrant. When he reached the gates, he noticed the lock had been torn off. He brushed past the iron bars and made his way to the dark tunnel where Lydia had cried into his shoulder while he lay unconscious, unable to comfort her. As he crossed the threshold into darkness, his heart began to pound furiously in his chest. The urge to turn and run was overpowering, but his determination to set things right was stronger. Stiles' footsteps echoed around him, the only thing to accompany him on this journey. When he reached the farthest depths of the underground tunnels, a voice rang out, causing him to come to a halt, and turn slowly to face the owner.

"Stilinski. Well, well. Ever the detective, just like you father. I knew you'd figure it out."

Kate Argent stepped from the shadows, smirking in triumph.


	9. Tether

Lydia awoke suddenly, gasping for air, as though she had been submerged in water. Heart racing, breath erratic, she shot up in bed, wildly. Her skin was coated in sweat, her t-shirt sticking to her back, her hair damp. She closed her eyes, attempting to steady her breath and think. What had she been dreaming about? She remembered darkness, shadows…and the air had been cold. She strained her mind, and remembered smelling something warm and musky and familiar: she had been dreaming of Stiles. She had dreamt that he was in danger; that Kate was going to kill him. The muscles in her throat tensed uncomfortably.

"Stiles?" Lydia breathed into the darkness. No answer. She reached over to him, but there was nothing to touch, save the soft sheets beneath her hands. He wasn't there. She reacted instantaneously, throwing back the covers, flipping on the light, and calling his name again. She rushed into the bathroom, then down the hall. He wasn't there. But, she knew that already. She had known the moment she had called out for him and he didn't answer. She knew that if Stiles had heard her calling, nothing would stop him from coming to her aid. She yanked on her clothes and dialed Scott's number.

He didn't answer. She furiously dialed again, running down the stairs, dashing to Stiles' dad's room, tears welling in her eyes as she did so. She had never felt so panicked before. What if her dream hadn't been a dream at all? Deaton had said that there was a strong connection between the two of them ever since the events with the nemeton earlier this year…

Scott's sleepy voice sounded in her ear after the third ring this time. "Scott!"

"Lydia? What's wrong? It's 2 am…" Scott mumbled.

"Scott, I can't find Stiles. I had a dream and then I woke up and he was gone. Scott, I think Kate has him. We have to help him! We have to do something." Lydia said, her words spilling over one another until she began to cry. "I don't know what to do. I don't know where he is."

It was silent for a few seconds before Scott said, "Lydia, I'll be right there. Just hold on. Malia is here with me, and I can get Liam. Malia can go and get Derek. I'll be right there, Lydia. I promise." Then he hung up the phone. Scott's warm voice was replaced by a dial tone and Lydia felt more alone than ever before. She wiped away her tears and knocked on Mr. Stilinski's door. He opened quickly, immediately noticing that Lydia was upset. She explained everything in a rush, imploring him to believe her; this wasn't just a dream. She didn't know how she knew this, but she did, and she needed someone else to know too.

Mr. Stilinksi set to rushing about the house, calling the police, checking the driveway for his car, calling Stiles' phone over and over again. Lydia anxiously paced the floor of the kitchen. Each minute was precious. If her dream had been real, then they needed to get to Stiles as soon as possible. Lydia couldn't help but feel as though this were her fault. She couldn't understand why Stiles would seek Kate Argent out. Why would he put himself in great danger when he knew that Kate would never stop; she would never be satisfied, no matter how many people she killed trying to achieve a sense of peace and satisfaction? She heard the front door open and dashed toward it.

"Lydia, are you okay?" Scott asked reaching for her. His large, tanned hand reached for her slight, pale one, and led her into the Stilinski's living room. He sat her down on the couch and sat on the coffee table in front of her.

"No, I'm not alright. We have to find Stiles now, Scott. Before it's too late." Lydia said, her voice laced with aggravation.

"Lydia, are you sure that Kate had him?" Scott asked her, looking directly in her eyes, awaiting her answer.

"Yes. Scott, I'm sure. I know it wasn't just a dream, okay?" She snapped. Stiles was going to die! Why didn't anyone understand? They had to act quickly.

Scott nodded and then took her hand in his again. "Lydia, wherever he is, we'll find him. I promise you."

Lydia looked into Scott's eyes, her own filled with tears, and knew that he meant it. He would do anything for Stiles, and he would do anything for her.

"Now, just…relax okay? As much as you can. Try and focus on where he could be…where Kate may have him."

"I don't know where he is!" Lydia said frantically. "I don't know! It's all foggy and the longer I wait, the harder it is to remember potentially useful details." She continued to grip Scott's hand, afraid that if she let go of him, she would float away from everything.

"Lydia, you can do this. You know you can. Just breathe and clear your head. Don't force it." Scott said, gently. The calm tone of his voice eased some of the tension in Lydia's chest.

Lydia wiped away the tears that had trickled down her cheeks, sat up straighter and closed her eyes, anchoring herself to the feeling of Scott's hand in hers. Nothing existed but their point of contact. She breathed in and out, over and over, until she felt as though she were disconnected from everything, floating in blank space. She thought back to her dream, she thought about Stiles, his rich amber eyes, his soft full lips, the moles that scattered themselves down his neck, the way his dark hair framed his pale skin…

Then she thought about how she felt during the dream. It had been cold, and dark, there had been stone walls. It had smelled musty and old and damp. There had been narrow halls, dead leaves littering the ground. Suddenly she knew exactly where he was. Her eyes snapped open.

"Eichen House." She said faintly. "Kate has Stiles in the Oak Creek tunnels beneath Eichen House. Where Allison…"

There was no need finish her sentence. Everything made sense. Kate blamed Stiles for Allison's death because the nogitsune had possessed his body. And Stiles, stupid, loving, beautiful Stiles had gone to her, to give himself up, and try and protect the others.

Scott stood, tugging her with him. "We have to go. Now." He went into the kitchen to explain things to Mr. Stilinski, quickly, before rushing back into the living room to wait for Lydia. She slipped on a pair of boots she had left in Stiles' room, pulled back her red hair, and faced herself in the mirror, briefly, before pulling on Stiles' red jacket and running down the stairs to meet Scott. She looked much as she had when she had returned to Beacon Hills a few weeks ago.

Stiles shivered at the sound of Kate's voice, echoing around him in the cold, dank tunnel. He turned to face her head on, feet planted, determined to control his fear. He had to do this. If it meant that Kate would leave the others in peace, then he had to do this. One life for another; Allison would be avenged.

He would never see Lydia again. He pushed the thought down until it settled in his stomach, making him feel ill. "Well, it's fitting right? I'm a detective like my dad, you're a psychotic murderer like your father. How special." Stiles said, sounding stronger than he felt. He clenched his jaw, as she moved toward him with a laugh, standing his ground. She circled him, trailing her finger across his shoulders as she went until she stopped to face him, far closer than he would have liked.

"Oh, Stiles. I hate to have to kill you. You've grown up in all the right places. Not Scott's little lackey anymore are you?" Kate purred, tilting her head to look him over.

"Didn't your wacked family ever teach you not to play with your food?" Stiles said, pushing her hand away from him. In a flash, her claws came out and she swiped at his face, leaving 4 shallow scratches on his cheek, and knocking him backward into the wall. He let the blood ooze down his neck, unflinchingly, his heart racing. She yanked him away from the wall and threw him to the ground, kicking him as he fell, so that he rolled over in pain. This time, a groan escaped him and he pulled his knees up to his chest. Kate crouched down next to him, stroking his cheek. He looked up at her to see her licking his blood off of her fingers.

"I must have missed that lesson." She said, coldly. "Get up."

Stiles slowly stood and faced her, grimacing. She watched him, her eyes burning. "You know, she was your age. She was seventeen. And I don't care what Chris said, you killed her. You're the reason she's dead. I will never see her again…" She turned away from him, breathing in great gasps, her body visibly shaking, but with tears, or restraint, Stiles didn't know.

"You think killing me would make Allison happy?" Stiles asked. Allison's name echoed throughout the hall.

"Don't you dare say her name." Kate spat at him. She rushed for him, hitting him again, this time in the stomach. As he doubled over, she hissed. He looked up to see her skin darkening to a deep bluish-black, her teeth elongated, her nails extending. He glared up at her, his jaw set.

"You weren't the only person that loved her." Stiles said firmly. He stood up, shoulders back, and faced Kate. He didn't have to steady his heartbeat anymore; he wasn't afraid of her. She was just a selfish bitch who lived to hurt others. "I loved Allison too."

Kate roared angrily, throwing her head back.

"She was so loved. Scott loved her, Lydia loved her, Chris loved her, and I loved her too. But, you're right._ I_ was the one who was possessed by the nogitsune. It was _my_ body that was used to craft her death. I may not have plunged the sword into her, but I may as well have. So, go ahead, Kate. _Kill me_. End it already. But, just know, killing me isn't going to bring her back. And it isn't going to make things right. It's just going to make things feel easier for a while."

Kate's chest was heaving as she stared Stiles down. For a moment, just a small glimmering moment it looked as though Kate might listen to him, but then she said: "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to rip. Your. Heart. Out. And then I'm going to eat it while I watch you die."

Stiles looked at the ground, heart filled with sorrow and guilt, his vision blurring with tears. He was never going to see the people he loved again. His dad would be alone…

Then a voice called out in the darkness.

"Over my dead body."

Stiles knew that voice anywhere. Lydia stepped out of the shadows, her stance that of a warriors'. She was flanked by Scott, Malia, Derek, and Liam, eyes glowing brightly.


	10. Love

Everything erupted into chaos. Lydia ducked to the side as someone leapt over her. Kate was no longer on her own. Two werewolves that Lydia recognized as ex-hunters of the Calavaras came running from the darkness and rushed to Kate's aid, catching Scott and the others off guard. Lydia blanched. Kate had bitten the hunters she didn't kill…

The sound of claw against claw pierced her ears, numerous roars reverberated throughout the halls, making Lydia's head ache. She scanned the room, holding tightly to a crossbow that Chris had given her after Allison's death. She had hoped that she would never have to use it. And yet here she was. She had to find Stiles. A flash of brown hair and pale skin caught her eye.

"LYDIA!" Stiles shouted, running for her, desperate to reach her.

Lydia's heart was beating a tattoo in her chest as she fought to get to him. She sprinted past Scott, covered in someone's blood, past Malia who was throwing another wolf to the ground. She was almost there; she extended her arm, her fingertips brushing Stiles', but she never grasped them. Stiles was torn away from her. She screamed his name as two of Kate's allies dragged him into a stone cavern she hadn't noticed, Kate laughing at Lydia's panic, Stiles struggling against his captors.

"SCOTT! Scott, she's taking him!" Lydia screamed, but Scott was stopped from running to her as a surge of werewolves pounced, throwing him to the ground. Lydia aimed her crossbow at Kate, took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger; she missed. She tried again, but her hands were shaking too hard. Malia was by her side in a flash, confident that Scott could fend off his attackers on his own. She grabbed Lydia's hand and they ran for the cavern, but before they could reach the entryway, a stone door slid into place, stopping them from reaching their destination. The last thing Lydia saw was Stiles being thrown to the ground, spitting blood from his mouth.

"NO NO NO! STILES!" She screamed, banging her hand against the stone door.

"Malia!" Derek shouted, as Liam was thrown against a wall and slid, unconscious, in a heap. Malia rushed to his aid, leaving Lydia to continue her assault on the impenetrable stone door, alone. Derek tried to run to her, but was knocked backwards. The sounds of battle raged in Lydia's ears and she felt as though she was going to tear apart at the seams. Her hands were bruised and bloodied from beating her fists against the stone repeatedly. She slid to the floor in a heap, sobbing in frustration and hopelessness. A scream was mounting in her throat, stronger than any scream she had ever experienced. Her whole body began to shake. The noise was driving her mad. Lydia felt herself spiraling out of control. She couldn't breathe. Peter's voice rang throughout her head: "It's not the scream that gives you power. All the scream does is help drown out the noise, allowing you to hear what you really need to." She closed her eyes tightly, fighting down the scream that was sure to rip through her vocal chords. Then she heard a voice that she thought she would never hear again.

"Lydia, breathe."

Her eyes snapped open, and the world went silent. Allison's voice wrapped itself around her. Everything felt as though it was happening in slow motion. Allison knelt down next to Lydia, cupping her face in her hands. She looked beautiful, and vibrantly alive, her dark hair falling in curtains around her face as she looked into Lydia's eyes.

"Allison?" Lydia cried out.

"Lydia, you have to breathe and relax your body. Don't fight the scream. You can save him. You can save Stiles. There's still hope. There is _always_ hope." She smiled an angel's smile, her eyes bright. She leaned down and kissed Lydia's forehead tenderly, whispering: "Scream, Lydia. Just scream."

"Please don't leave me, Allison." Lydia whispered. "Please don't leave. I need you."

"Lydia, I never left. I'll always be here." Allison said, grinning.

Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone, leaving Lydia cold and scared, but determined.

"Scott! Get everyone out! Go!" Lydia shouted.

Scott ran to her, yelling "No! We're not leaving without you or Stiles! Not this time, Lydia. I'm not going anywhere."

"Scott, please, there isn't time! You have to get out of here. I can save him, but you have to let me do this alone." Lydia begged.

Scott shook his head in confusion, saying, "No. No, it's not happening again."

"Scott, do you trust me?" Lydia asked, taking his hand.

"Of course I do."

"Then go. Now."

He looked at her one last time and squeezed her hand. She pushed him away, hard, and he took off, yelling for Liam and Derek, and grabbing Malia in his arms as she fought to get away from him and run to Lydia. Lydia hoped that he could restrain her just a little longer.

The need to scream was building in her chest, making it painful to breathe. It was unbearable. As soon as everyone was out of sight, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. One of Kate's men rushed for her, but it was too late; she opened her mouth, wide, and screamed. She screamed louder than ever, the corners of her mouth cracking with the force. Blood ran from her own ears, and she felt her vocal chords straining, as though about to snap. It felt as though it would never end. The wolves around her fell in heaps, the sound too much for their hypersensitive ears. She screamed and screamed, until the walls shook and stone began to crumble around her, great clouds of dust erupting in the air. The stone in front of her groaned and a gaping crack formed. It grew wider and wider as it fell apart. Then, finally, Lydia fell silent. She stumbled slightly, swaying with exhaustion and then fell to the ground; but not before a pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around her and caught her. Everything around her faded as she slipped away into darkness…

Lydia awoke to the sound of a steady beeping. She kept her eyes closed, savoring the feeling of peacefulness that had enveloped her body. Her limbs felt heavy, her head foggy, and she felt as though she were floating. Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the light in the room. She gingerly turned her head to see Malia curled up in a ball, fast asleep next to her on a cot, Derek sitting next to her dozing.

Lydia tried to speak, but found that her throat was very sore, her voice low and scratchy. "Malia?" She croaked. The corners of her mouth smarted and stung. At the sound of her name, Malia stirred, raising up to look at Lydia.

"Hey!" Malia whispered with a smile. "You're awake. How're you feeling?"

"I've felt better." Lydia said softly.

"You've looked better too." Malia said, nudging Lydia gently as she sat on the bed next to her.

"How long have I been out? What happened?" Lydia said, struggling to sit up. Her whole body ached, as though she had been pulled apart and then haphazardly thrown back together.

"3 days. You screamed Lydia. After Stiles was dragged away and you told us to leave, you screamed. It was like nothing I've ever heard before…and we were outside the tunnels! But, the echoing was insane. When you stopped, we immediately went back in. All the other werewolves were dead. Scott caught you just as you fainted. We brought you to the hospital, and said that you had been a victim in the explosion."

"The explosion?" Lydia asked, in confusion.

"Lyds, you wrecked the tunnels. We had to come up with some kind of story. The only possible explanation that anyone would believe was an explosion of some sort. Stiles' dad took care of everything. As for the screams the patients of Eichen House heard…well, someone's always screaming in there." Malia said, her eyebrows furrowing as she frowned. "On the bright side, the destruction illuminated how awful the place was! Maybe the patients will actually get adequate care now…"

"And Stiles?" Lydia finally asked, holding her breath. Malia didn't answer right away and Lydia felt her heart sinking. They hadn't gotten to him in time…

"He's going to be okay, Lydia." Malia said, slowly. Lydia's head snapped up at her words.

"He's okay? You were able to get to him? Where is he? Can I see him?" she said, halfway out of bed before Malia put a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her back down. Malia's expression was very serious for a woman delivering good news.

"Lydia, I said he was going to be okay, and he is, but right now…" She trailed off. At Lydia's urgent and annoyed look, she continued. "He's still unconscious. The stone room protected him from your scream for the most part. But, the doctors are saying that the force…was hard on him. He…He can't fully hear right now. He's not responding to any noises at this point."

"He what?" Lydia said, her heart sinking to her stomach, filled with dread.

"They said he'll recover just fine, Lydia. It'll just take time. He's a little battered and bruised. But, he'll recover and his hearing will come back…Lydia, you saved him." Malia said, her voice filled with awe. "You saved all of us."

Once Malia had helped Lydia shower and change into her own clean clothes, she went to Stiles' room on her own. She tried to open the door quietly, but then remembered that there was no need; Stiles wouldn't hear it anyway.

Stiles' dad was asleep in a chair to the side and Scott was sitting on the windowsill. As soon as he saw Lydia, he pulled her to him, hugging her tightly. She returned his embrace, happy to know that he was okay. From what Malia and Derek had said, Scott had barely left Stiles' room and Mr. Stilinski hadn't left at all. Scott gently shook Mr. Stilinski awake.

"Hey, Lydia's here." He said, softly. Mr. Stilinski rubbed at his eyes and then rose from his chair.

"Lydia…thank you. Thank you so much for what you did. They told me that he wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been for you." Mr. Stilinski said, pulling Lydia to him. Lydia returned his embrace, holding on to the back of his jacket, fighting tears. She didn't know how to respond to him, so she remained silent. She couldn't remember the last time her own father had held her in this way, as though he hoped to absorb all the fear and hurt inside her and make her whole again…

After making sure that Stiles was still stable, Mr. Stilinski agreed to go home to clean up and eat while Lydia stayed with Stiles. Scott went out into the hall to see Malia and Derek, and Lydia was finally left alone with the person she loved most in this world. She crept over to his bed, looking him over. There were bruises scattered across his face and neck, and a few stitches across his forehead and jaw. She gently brushed her hand across his cheek, then ran her thumb across his lips. He looked so peaceful, and at ease, his breathing deep and even. She leaned over him, softly brushing her lips against his. Then she kicked off her shoes and crawled into the bed with him, resting her head on his shoulder, intertwining her fingers with his.

"I love you." Lydia whispered into his ear. "Please wake up." It was the first time she had ever said those words to him and he hadn't answered. Her vision blurred with tears that she didn't wipe away. Instead she let them slide down her cheeks until she fell asleep curled up against Stiles' still body.

Another day passed. Lydia was sitting at the foot of Stiles' bed, reading silently. Her mother had stopped by to check on her, trying to convince her to come home and get some sleep, but she gently refused. People would stream in and out of the room, nurses checking on Stiles' vitals, members of the pack coming in periodically, but Lydia never left. As she reached the end of a chapter in her novel, she vaguely noticed a change in the repetitive noises in the room. The heart monitor was still beeping, and the various contraptions around Stiles were still whirring and puffing, but Stiles' slow, steady breaths had changed. Lydia snapped her book shut, looking up at a blinking Stiles.

"Stiles!" She gasped, crawling forward, so that she was closer to him. It took a few seconds for him to come to, but when he did, he smiled. Lydia had never felt such relief. Her heart soared. Stiles was awake. He was going to be okay.

"Can you hear me?" She asked him, taking his scraped hand in hers.

"Barely." Stiles muttered. "My ears are ringing."

"I'm so sorry." Lydia whispered.

"I've never heard someone apologizing for saving another person's life before." Stiles said, raising an eyebrow.

Lydia laughed a little before saying, "The doctors said that your hearing should return to normal soon."

"Cool, because I would hate not to hear your voice, Lydia. But, at least I can see that smile." Stiles responded. He reached out to her and she settled down next to him, sliding her hand under his t-shirt. She gently ran her fingers over his chest and stomach. Stiles rested his cheek on the top of her head, the two of them savoring a moment of peace, glad to be alive.

"I love you." Lydia said, tipping her head up to kiss Stiles.

This time he answered. "I love you too, Lydia."

Within a few weeks they had all recovered and were beginning to feel more like themselves again. Everything had settled down, and for the first time in over a year, Stiles finally felt safe. Lydia's scream had left Kate unconscious, so they were able to put her in the same secure facility as Peter, where hopefully, she would remain for a very long time.

Scott had begun teaching Liam more about control and skill, and Derek had offered to help when Scott couldn't. Malia and Scott were finally, officially dating, much to Stiles and Lydia's delight. Malia was finally beginning to feel as though she had a real family, after she met Cora, Derek's younger sister, whom she immediately hit it off with.

Kira came back to visit for a few days to see them all, after hearing about what had happened, accompanied by Isaac and Chris. All of them made a trip to Allison's grave, to leave her flowers. Lydia looked around at her family, her pack. It felt odd for all of them to be gathered together without Allison, even if it was just for a short while.

Long after everyone else went home, Lydia sat at Allison's grave, leaning against the tombstone. It was finally warming up again, and Lydia wanted to savor the sun's heat while she could. Stiles stayed with her, unwilling to part from her. Since everything that had happened, they rarely left each other's sides, even if they just sat in silence, grasping one another's hands. Stiles wrapped his arm around Lydia's shoulders and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Allison would be really proud of you, Lyds." he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

"I think she'd be proud of all of us." Lydia said.

The air began to get chilly as the sun set, and the two of them stood up together, setting off for home.

Later that night, Stiles and Lydia climbed into Stiles' large, comfy, bed, wrapping themselves up in one another. Lydia looked up at Stiles, his long eyelashes grazing his high cheekbones when he blinked, his chest rising and falling with each relaxed breath. Her heart swelled with affection and she snuggled into him even further. He smiled, kissing her on the cheek, and then her lips.

"Stiles?" Lydia said, softly.

"Yeah?" Stiles responded, looking down at her. She was looking out across the room, her eyes unfocused.

"I saw her, you know. I know it sounds crazy, but I did."

"Who?"

"Allison." Lydia said, looking up at him, a smile playing across her face. "Just for a moment, it was like she was right there with me. Like she'd never left at all."

Stiles just smiled at her, his eyes full of understanding and warmth, and Lydia felt a rush of gratitude and affection. Stiles held her to him just a little tighter and pressed his soft lips to hers. In that moment, Lydia had never felt safer or more loved.


End file.
